


Freshman Werewolves

by calrissian18



Series: Teen Wolf Coda [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Infidelity, M/M, Possessive Liam, Set Directly after 4x05, Virginity, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t stalking Scott.  Or Stiles.  He wasn’t.  Only they seemed to have all the facts about this werewolf stuff and were taking great pleasure in deciding when it should be parceled out.</p><p>Well, Liam wanted answers now rather than being dependent on either of those idiots for potentially vital information.</p><p> </p><p>4.05 Coda - it needed it, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freshman Werewolves

**Author's Note:**

> My first (but _so_ not my last) Lilinski fic. My [tumblr followers](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/92600211749/voodoodickrats-replied-to-your-post-you-had) totally know why I call it that, and I love them for letting me get away with it. By the way, all you dudes better be here reading this RIGHT NOW because I believe I told you there would be chloroform-shaped consequences otherwise.

Liam stopped outside the Animal Clinic, breathing hard and hands clenching into fists.  A movement to his left made him whip around.  Stilinski – Scott’s ineffectual, leering sidekick – raised his head, eyes pinched and squinting.  Liam swallowed, asked tightly, tipping his head towards the clinic door, “Is he gonna be all right?”

Stiles rubbed at his lower lip with his first two fingers, unpacking himself from the tight ‘C’ he’d been curled over in against the brick.  He looked a little like a spider coming down from its web and Liam felt himself tense watching him.  He said wryly, “What do you want the answer to that question to be?”

“I never wanted him dead,” Liam said back forcefully, feeling like Stiles’ words had been a challenge and wanting to meet it.

Stiles smirked, amused and indulgent.  “Good, that’s good.”

Liam took a step back, hands unclenching and question answered. Brett was going to live and he wasn’t sure why he cared except he felt responsible for him somehow. He nodded once and started to turn on his heel.

Stiles called him back before he could take a single step away.  “Hey,” he said softly, for him at least.  Still loud but not grating and  _insistent_  the way his voice usually was.  He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, like he was  _choosing_  his words rather than blurting them out. He tilted his head to the side, said, “I know you wanted to beat those prep school assholes tonight.” He dipped his chin, bobbed it.  “Benching yourself, that was impressive.”

Liam shifted his weight, furrowed his brow, asked carefully, “You think Scott feels that way too?”

Stiles smiled, snorted, but it seemed private, not a joke Liam was meant to get.  “In pretty much the same situation, he couldn’t do it.”

Liam felt a grin climb up the left side of his face and noticed the way Stiles’ eyes were flashing at him in the dark. “What?”

He shook his head, bounced his brows. “It’s just weird  _watching_  the hero-worship happen.”

Liam scoffed, feeling his heartbeat start to flutter faster.  “I don’t hero-worship McCall,” he bluffed.

“He’s your Alpha and he’s not a dick,” Stiles pointed out, clicking his tongue, “of course you do.  Hey,” he said with a perky shrug of his shoulders, “Scott wasn’t so lucky.”

Liam felt his curiosity pique. “Who was his Alpha?” He hadn’t realized an Alpha could have an Alpha, that it was a station that changed.  He didn’t know  _anything_  about this stuff.

“That is so not something you need to be poking your new super-snout into,” Stiles said with a huff of breath, lips twisted with amusement.  He rubbed a hand over his face, opened the door to the clinic, paused long enough to say, “I’m going to walk away from you now but, uh, nice move tonight, not on the field but walking off it.”

Liam nodded to him, feeling a bit of pride blossom in his chest, before Stiles could disappear inside.

* * *

“Okay, so, I’m going to teach you how to control the shift today,” Scott said a bit unevenly, like he was coming up with the spiel as it came out of his mouth.

Liam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and asked, “Where’s Stiles?”  If there was one thing Stiles knew how to do, it was run his mouth and Scott should leave that to him. Really.

“Uh.”  Scott mostly just looked lost.

Liam changed that to perking both eyebrows and jutted out his chin challengingly.  “The guy who basically orbits you?”  He swept his hand across the room.  “He’s not here.”

Scott seemed to have picked up the line of thought, even if he didn’t understand the reason for it, and said with an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders, “He didn’t want to come.”

“Oh,” Liam said blankly in answer. It didn’t matter really. Stiles was—Liam didn’t even know him and so what if he’d thought they’d finished the other night on good terms?  Apparently he’d managed to piss Stiles off somehow and that  _was_ kind of his M.O. so he wasn’t even that surprised.

* * *

Despite Scott’s attempts, Liam still couldn’t control when his fingernails became claws or his eyes became glowing disks of electricity or whatever they did.  Scott seemed unwilling to give up though, took him out to the lacrosse field with a bag full of something like fifty balls and told him to get in goal.

Liam pulled a face, looked around and noted nonchalantly, “Stilinski isn’t here again.”

Scott stopped bouncing the ball in his lacrosse’s net and blinked at him.  He clearly had no idea what the correct response was because he clearly had no idea why Liam was noting it.  He tried uncertainly, “Did you want him to be?” 

Liam scoffed.  “No.”  Scott whipped a lacrosse ball at him after telling him not to catch it.  Awesome.

* * *

He wasn’t stalking Scott.  Or Stiles.  He wasn’t.  Only they seemed to have all the facts about this werewolf stuff and were taking great pleasure in deciding when it should be parceled out. Well, Liam wanted answers now rather than being dependent on either of those idiots for potentially vital information.  He paused at the end of the hall, shielding himself behind a row of lockers and turning his ear towards them.

He nearly stumbled standing perfectly still when Scott hitched up his backpack and said his name.  “Liam keeps asking about you.”

Stiles turned away from where he was distracted with the girl who didn’t seem to know how  _life_  worked – Liam still hadn’t caught her name – and grinned into Scott’s face.  “These dashing good looks,” he brushed his throat with the back of his hand, ending in a flourish, “I’m telling you, they’re a gift as much as a curse.”

Liam’s ears went red, heated, throat going tight at the suggestion that—at the idea that—because he  _wasn’t_.  Stilinski was a spaz and  _terrible_  at lacrosse and had a stupid mouth and—Liam was  _not_  thinking about his mouth because he wasn’t interested.   _Not_.   _Interested_.

Scott shoved Stiles away by his face and went from smiling to serious in the span of a minute.  “I’m pretty sure he thinks you hate him.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, tapped his fingers against his locker door in a way that made the sound of it shave against the bone of Liam’s spine.  There were louder noises happening all around him but, for some reason, Stiles’ were the ones that had his ear.  “Come on, that guy and I in the same room?  Not the best idea.”

Scott wasn’t even looking a him, said distractedly, “You should come tonight.” 

Stiles frowned at him, looked up from his locker with a squint.  “Were you not just—” he followed Scott’s gaze and said with exaggerated sweetness and a mocking wave, “Ah, hi, Kira.”  He grabbed Scott’s chin and forcibly turned it back towards him.  Scott offered him a goofy grin and an apologetic hunch of his shoulders.  “Let me reiterate, Liam and I equals” he spread out his hands and made a crashing sound with his stupid mouth, “huge craters of human misery and doom and,” he scratched at the shell of his ear, “not... good...  _things_  in the same room.  Got it?”  He gestured to the girl standing over his shoulder and she smiled like a robot at his meager acknowledgment.  “I’m helping Malia study tonight anyway.”

Right.  Stiles had a girlfriend, one who didn’t seem to understand basic human behaviors, but a girlfriend nonetheless and Liam wasn’t interested.  He could’ve found his own girlfriend by now if he wasn’t so invested in lacrosse, and now distracted with all the werewolf stuff.

He pulled up his backpack, kicked off the wall and headed to class.

* * *

“He’s helping Malia study,” Scott said as soon as he met Liam that night, wide-eyed and gauging, like he was trying to figure out if the question had actually been coming or not.

Liam scowled and held out his hand and tried to make claws happen.  He didn’t manage it and Scott looked a mix of stymied and disappointed.

* * *

The thing was, Liam didn’t technically know where Stiles lived.  But he knew what Stiles smelled like.  Something bland, like chewable vitamins, and  _energy_ , which wasn’t a scent he could put words to and old leather – probably from his rickety old Jeep.

It wasn’t all that hard to find him actually, which was a little worrying.

He knocked on Stiles’ door – what he assumed was Stiles’ door, as it was easily the largest concentration of his scent anywhere in town.  He swung his arms back and forth, fist knocking into his palm repeatedly, and waited for Stiles’ dad to answer the door.  The sheriff, he was pretty sure he’d heard that right.

Only the sheriff didn’t answer the door. Stiles did.  He whipped it open, poked his head out over the lip of the frame with too much enthusiasm and pulled back in pure surprise when he recognized Liam.  He exaggeratedly peeked around him as though looking for someone else.  For Scott probably. When he realized it was just him, his brow furrowed heavily.

“You’re avoiding me,” Liam accused, perking both his eyebrows.

Stiles’ eyes darted around suspiciously. “How do you know where I live?” He waved his hand over the distance between them.  “This is not giving me happy, safe feels, dude.” He hit the word ‘feels’ awkwardly hard, like he wasn’t used to saying it or was just giving it a strange amount of emphasis.  Liam continued to stand there, staring at him and Stiles said uncomfortably, “Werewolves, vampires?  No relation.  There’s no invisible barrier here because you don’t have to be invited in.”  His eyes widened like he’d just given up something he hadn’t meant to and backtracked quickly.  “Uh, unless you do.  Yeah, I think I heard that, actually.  You definitely have to be invited.”

Liam rolled his eyes, ignoring Stiles ignoring  _him_  and pulling him back on track. “ _Why_  are you avoiding me?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, unpinched them, waved his hand carelessly.  “Okay, we’ll skip the part where I argue that and we’ll agree that I’ve agreed and I’ll jump to: why the hell would you care if I  _was_  avoiding you?” 

Liam gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists, and ground out, “Because it feels like—like—You’re Scott’s second.  If you disapprove of me then it’s not long before he’ll turn me away too.”  It was annoying. That he even cared what Scott did, that he  _wanted_  to be under Scott’s thumb but he felt safest – for other people – when he was around him.

Stiles’ stupid mouth froze half-open and he snapped it shut.  “There are just so many things wrong with that.   _So_ — _many_ — _things_.  One, Scott’s second?  I’m human and-and no.” He whipped his hand through the air in a ‘cut it’ gesture.  “Also, you’re Scott’s very first baby wolf, which means you’re the apple of his eye, incapable of any wrong-doing and he’s totally going to dote on you, dude.  Lastly,” he fumbled the words, “I don’t  _disapprove_  of you.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair.  “You are literally primed to explode and I tend to see how far I can push things just for funsies,” he said with a plasticine grin and a sarcastic thumbs up. “Hence the avoidance.”

Liam swallowed, took a step forward, not really sure what he was doing but somehow sure it made  _sense_.  His heart was like a battering ram in his chest and he said carefully, licking his lip and not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes, “You want to push me?”

Stiles let out a huff of breath, almost like a laugh except his eyes were wide and skittish and he backed up a step. He shook his head minutely but  _a lot_.  “Liam—”

Liam just kept taking steps forward for every one Stiles took back.  He bit into his lower lip, hard, still not meeting Stiles’ eyes.  “Maybe I want you to push me.”  Stiles’ was the only heartbeat he could hear, loud and unrelenting and overpowering his senses and he reached forward, for the back of Stiles’ neck, to pull him in, only to have him flail backwards.

“Okay, wow, no, you’re, like,  _five_  and you barely  _know me_ ,” he stressed that part, “and you’re a newly turned werewolf with no control over himself and I’m the guy with a cattle prod who’s going to stab at the first weak spot I find because I can’t help myself.”  He held Liam back by his chest, like all it would take was driving this point home to make him realize what a terrible idea this was.  Like he just wasn’t thinking.

Maybe he wasn’t.  It felt good, either way.  He stepped back into Stiles’ space, despite his hand still trying to hold him off, which was now folded back into his own chest. He met Stiles’ eyes, determination in his own, and said,  “I’m saying: do it.”  He brushed their lips together, Stiles blinking dumbly and insisted, “Push.  Me.”

Stiles did, breaking his arm out of the cage between their bodies and shoving him back into the railing of his stairs, Stiles’ hand sliding up against the tender back of his neck, spreading into his hair, and everything tingled where he touched because he was the first to—no one else had ever— 

They stumbled up the stairs together, Liam’s limbs stupid and numbed, and Stiles’ mouth warm and, like,  _elastic_  and Stiles’ tongue was in his mouth, making his heart quiver and he was so pathetically hard, just over kissing him. Stiles backed him up, to his door, to his room, and this had seemed like a really good idea.  Downstairs and with the pushing and things seeming to  _click_  and now things weren’t clicking.  He was awkwardly aware of his hands and where they were and every time Stiles’ mouth pulled away, he was sure it wasn’t coming back because he didn’t know  _how_ to kiss or what  _good_  kissing consisted of. 

Stiles did that thing, that panic-inducing, self-esteem dropping thing.  He pulled away again.  Ripped out of his t-shirt and kicked off his shoes. Liam pulled his own shirt up by its collar, because that seemed like the stage they were at, and hovered over pulling it off.

Stiles didn’t give him the chance to make a final decision, coming back in, hand on the back of Liam’s neck, kissing open-mouthed and eyes closed and fingers on Liam’s hip, that entire patch of skin prickling. He knocked his door closed with his heel, planted Liam down on his bed and slithered—or something like that but less snake-specific—on top of him.

Liam had no idea how to handle that. Stiles was—he wasn’t slowing down and he seemed to just  _know_  what to do next and Liam had no idea what that  _was_. Because  _whatever it wa_ s, he didn’t have it.  At any moment he was sure he was going to do the wrong thing, turn Stiles off or make it clear that whatever the hell that had been downstairs when he’d been all confident and take charge?  That was done now and he was back to being a freshman who had somehow conned a junior into kissing him and who was now totally  _terrified_  of that.

He put his hands tentatively on Stiles’ hips, trying to match the press of his mouth, the roll of his tongue, eyelashes fluttering as Stiles took  _possession_  of his mouth.  A hand came under the small of his back, arched it up and pushed his hips into Stiles’. 

Liam gasped and Stiles pressed deeper with his mouth.  His hands clenched automatically where they were on Stiles’ hips, tugging on his jeans and he wanted to  _do_  something, more than just weather this, maybe actually participate even.  Shaky fingers found the catch of Stiles’ jeans and then he was tugging at the button, the zip, getting Stiles’ pants open. 

He pulled in a deep, stuttering breath the second his mouth was free, Stiles panting over him and pulling back from his hands, and he felt something in his chest  _twist_. Something blunt rested over his lower lip, something he’d only just begun to recognize as the pressure of a fang. Looking down, he found his nails were claws, resting innocuously on Stiles’ rumpled sheets.  His lip raised over sharp teeth.  “Your bed smells like—” Stiles’ girlfriend. It smelled like the socially inept girl that he’d been helping study earlier that night.

Stiles flopped over onto his back next to him.  Liam propped himself up on his elbows so he could see what Stiles had to say for himself but all he did was squeeze his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and try to catch his breath.  “Possessive within five minutes of getting my pants unzipped,” his mouth curved into a thoughtful frown, “that’s impressive turn around time.”  He rolled onto his side, sized Liam up and said simply, “Hey, I like these sheets so get your shit under control.”

Liam felt his cheeks heat and he slurred out, “I’m  _trying_.”

Stiles pressed his lips together, puffed them out and said in a drawling sort of voice, “Well I’m not letting you touch my dick with claws so…”

Liam closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, and hissed, “ _Not_  helping.”  He pressed at his cock with the heel of his palm but the thought of touching Stiles, that Stiles  _wanted_  him to—

He felt Stiles’ warm, hot breath against his neck but he didn’t touch, just breathed, trailing downward, and the heat of his body left Liam’s side.  “You wanted me to push, right?”  The words were said in the space right over Liam’s belly button.  “Consider this me—pushing.”

Liam’s hips twisted completely independently of his body, anything to alleviate the throb of his cock. He spread his legs, felt Stiles’ mouth against the bulge of his cock through his jeans, lips resting there and his entire body  _contracted_  at the feel of it.  “St-Stiles,” he got out, breaths shuddering in and out, “ _fuck_.” 

Stiles chuckled, the sound of it coming out slightly shaky. “It’s a bit early for that.”  He didn’t pull away to say it, the words spoken right against Liam’s jeans, his puffs of breath banking against the pulsing of Liam’s cock.  He was going to have a heart attack, or an orgasm— _something_ —before Stiles even actually touched him skin to skin.  Stiles shifted back so his calves were flat on the carpet and he was kneeling between Liam’s legs.  “We’re not lesbians and if I see a U-Haul out there tomorrow morning, I’m never touching your dick again.” 

Liam looked down at him in confusion. He hadn’t followed that at all and Stiles had stopped touching his dick _now_. Which made it hard to think of anything  _other_  than, ‘he’s not touching my dick.’  Though to be fair, when he  _was_  touching Liam’s dick, it was hard to think of anything other than, ‘he’s touching my dick.’  Liam shook his head to clear it, got out a forceful, “Huh?”

Stiles clicked his tongue, brows a deep ‘V.’  “You are a precious babe lost in the woods, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t making any sense. Did Stiles know he wasn’t making any sense?  And why was making no sense more important than having his mouth on Liam’s dick?  “Stiles, you’re not—”

“You should stop talking,” Stiles decided, the backs of his fingers lazily trailing up the length of Liam’s dick, which was  _straining_  to meet him. He thumbed open the catch of Liam’s jeans, so much more smoothly than Liam had been able to do on him, pulled down his boxers and jeans when Liam lifted up his hips and then his mouth was—

He was—

There was a mouth on his dick. It was—how did people ever  _stop_  doing this because this was just.  It fucking beat the high  _lacrosse_  gave him, that was for sure.  Stiles got halfway down his cock, _dragged_  his lips back up, suctioned them over the head, pressed his tongue under the ridge and Liam came hard into his mouth. 

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” he blurted out as soon as his eyesight had stopped trying to escape out his dick.  His vision was still all blurry, starburst-y, and his head felt fuzzy but he was  _pretty_  certain the etiquette was to warn people before you did that.

Stiles coughed, spluttered and grinned. 

Liam looked at him in confusion and felt a flick against his shoe.  He struggled upright to stare down at them.

“You ruined your shoes,” Stiles told him, just in case he missed it somehow.

Liam groaned and dropped back against the bed, squeezing his eyes closed.  He didn’t know how to get rid of  _toe_  claws – which were still popping out of the rubber of his shoes – he hadn’t even known he  _had_  toe claws.

Stiles companionably patted him in the side as he settled back on the bed next to him, like this had been one friend doing another a favor.  Liam really did not get him, but he thought he might want to.  Which was just kind of... self-destructive.  “How do you feel?” Stiles asked, sounding a bit wrung out himself. 

“Pushed,” Liam said honestly, “teetering on the edge of something.”  He realized after a second how that sounded, like he couldn’t afford to be pushed anymore.  Which wasn’t true.  Not when he wasn’t totally sure falling was a bad thing.  He spread his thighs slightly, Stiles’ eyes drawn to his already plumping cock with a groan.  He waggled his eyebrows, said, “Ready to be pushed some more.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, shoved him back by his shoulder into the mattress and swung a leg over his hips. “Werewolves,” he muttered, grinding down against Liam’s erection and making Liam’s eyes cross.  “ _Freshman_  werwolves.”


End file.
